


In the Gardens of Hobbiton

by iloveklaus



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Major Original Character(s), Post-Canon, The Shire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveklaus/pseuds/iloveklaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple story--the Hobbits have returned to the Shire and are enjoying the sweet life of heroes. However, the usually grounded Merry Brandybuck finds his head in the clouds after an encounter with a mysterious outsider and her beautiful garden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Gardens of Hobbiton

Yes, it was at this time of year that everything good seemed to be in bloom. Most of all, some might say, was the garden of Esme, who lived just across the pond from the water wheel. Many Hobbits found themselves taking the long path to the other side of town, and not just because of the Hobbits fondness for walking, but merely to pause a moment and admire the rich patch of flora that occupied this particular corner of Hobbiton. 

The wooden gates were not brown, but green with intricately curled vines. In the spring, a brilliant bunch of sweet-smelling lilac bloomed from these vines and trickled down to the dirt path below. Behind this gate sat clay pots and old mysterious jars brumming with the brightest poppies and the crispest daisies and the loveliest lavender. In one corner a brilliant forest of sunflowers sprang upwards, reaching almost the height of the house itself. The heady perfume of the flowers mingled with the warmth of the dirt and many a passerby could be spied from Esme’s window inhaling deeply and sighing with satisfaction. 

Esme herself was as often a fixture in this garden as the daffodils and shrubberies. She offered a bright and unassuming smile to all who admired, though this was usually returned with a nervous nod and a scurry away. Despite a collective admiration for her garden, most residents of Hobbiton thought it rather queer that Esme had lived, and continued to live, alone for so many years. She was now at least 30, though no one knew for sure. In fact, no one could quite remember when or where Esme hailed from. 

It was a popular game amongst the children to discuss Esme’s origins, and equally as popular amongst old crotchety men in pubs. Some speculated she had come to the Shire under the cover of night, many years ago, and had simply taken up residence. Some speculated she was a great witch or enchantress and had come to Hobbiton to escape a great evil. Some thought she had just been there all along and no one had ever noticed. 

All of these were mere stories, however. It was only Esme that really knew, and no one had ever bothered to ask her. No one had ever bothered to ask her anything, otherwise. Esme was the most spoken-of, but least spoken-to resident of the Shire indeed. Unlike the queer ways of old Bilbo Baggins, which had, once upon a time, elicited many gifts and supper invitations, Esme was regarded as the kind of queer the might turn one into a newt.

And that is what made this day so peculiar: for the first time in Esme’s many days, she was spoken to. 

“Well would you look at that!” exclaimed a voice. 

“I am most certainly looking!” a voice replied. “How could you not?”  
Esme was busy watering a patch of tulips, but the words of the passersby did not fall on deaf ears. She continued about her work, keeping her grin to herself.

“Excuse me, miss!” called the first voice.

At first, Esme did not turn and acknowledge the call, assuming someone else must be its recipient. Yet, it persisted.

“Miss, is this your garden?” 

Esme turned, and finding it difficult to suppress her surprise at the address, took in a small gasp. 

“Well I’m sorry—we didn’t mean to startle you,” said the owner of the second voice. “We were just admiring your garden is all.” 

Two Hobbits, perhaps five or six years older than Esme, stood on the opposite side of her gate. The first, slightly taller and broader across the chest. His yellow hair was worn short and contrasted by heavy, dark brows. The second, short and lithe with shaggy dark hair and a pointy nose. They wore grey travelling cloaks and carried packs upon their backs. Both seemed mischievous yet somehow wizened.

Esme was uncertain of what to say. Her first instinct told her perhaps it was a prank, but the earnestness apparent in the pair’s eyes was undoubtedly genuine. 

“Thank you very much,” Esme finally replied. “Many have walked the path across my garden, but none has ever been so kind as to tell me of their admiration.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” said the first. “Though we haven’t walked this path in many years so perhaps you just haven’t yet at the right passersby!”

“We’re travelling, you see. Visiting an old friend. Samwise Gamgee, I reckon you know of him?” 

“Surely,” Esme couldn’t help but laugh. “From the gossip I’ve gathered he is my one true enemy in the Shire, for I am the only one with a more admirable garden than him.” 

Indeed this was true. Those who crossed Esme’s way were often whispering to each other, comparing the likes of Esme’s garden to that of the Gamgee family.

“Ahh that’s just old Sam. He’s harmless,” the first smiled. He paused a moment as if suddenly remembering something. “I’m sorry, I have forgotten my manners. Meriadock Brandybuck.” He bowed lightly, raising his head and smiling.

“And Peregrin Took, at your service,” said the second.

“A Brandybuck and a Took all the way out in Hobbiton? You must have journeyed for many days,” said Esme with genuine surprise.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Peregrin shrugged.

“It’s always a pleasure to see the fair sights this side of the Shire.” Meriadoc had barely uttered these words before Peregrin offered a jovial elbow to the ribs. Esme blushed.

“We must be off, unfortunately,” Peregrin said, still smirking at his friend. “We have already delayed much, and Sam was expecting us early this morning.” 

“Though surely we will meet again, for we remain in Sam’s company for at least a fortnight,” Meriadock quickly added.

Esme curtseyed and smiled again as the pair continued down the path. Some ways down, Meriadock turned and caught Esme still eyeing them. He smiled. She could hear Peregrin let out a hearty laugh followed by a sharp “Ow!”

She had absolutely no idea what to make of all this.

\---

“You should have heard him!” Peregrin, or Pippin as his friends called him, howled. He clanked his half-full mug on the soggy wood of the table before taking another swig. The company that surrounded them howled right along, save for Meriadock, or Merry as was his common name. He rolled his eyes and buried his nose in the foam of his own brew. “Only the finest in Hobbiton, demands Master Brandybuck!”

The pair had made their way to the Gamgee residence and, after quickly shrugging off their travelling packs, found their way to the pub to reminisce with their old friend.

“Sounds like you two haven’t changed a bit,” Sam smiled. To him, his friends seemed as young and absurd as ever.

“I still don’t see what the big deal is!” Merry finally burst. “We stopped and admired her garden and we were on our way. That’s the beginning, middle, and end of it!”

Suddenly the air grew thick and it seemed as if Sam had stopped breathing.

“Garden you say?” Sam whispered, as if he were speaking the name of a great evil.

“Sure it was a garden! She mentioned you, come to think of it!” Pippin said.

“Me!” Sam squeaked.

“She said you were enemies on account of your gardens both being of such beauty and renown.” Merry smiled at the recollection of her laugh.

“Enemies...” Sam muttered, his eyes growing wider and wider with each new morsel of information.

“Come on now, it was all in good fun!” Merry said.

“Oh I don’t know about that! If I had known you were talking about old Esme from the start I would have told you,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“What’s there to tell?” Merry leaned across the table, intrigued. Even Pippin eyed the situation carefully as he took a swig from his mug. 

Sam looked around hesitantly before beginning his tale.

“They said she’s a witch...an enchantress...”

“Oh well I don’t see the problem. We’ve met plenty of those before. No harm done!” Pippin stated conclusively.

“No, this isn’t the good kind. No one can remember where she came from or when for that matter. I reckon she showed up here some dark night and cast a spell on all of us to make us think nothing of it. But I surely think something of it all right. It’s not natural, it is. That garden is probably riddled with black magic.” 

“Oh come on now, Sam! This all sounds like a bit of gossip to me,” Merry said defensively.

“Well how about you live here for ten years and tell me you don’t find it odd, some lady showing up and living all alone. No friends, no relations ever come to visit. Never talks to nobody either. Just always in that garden...probably just spying on us...waiting for the right night when she’ll probably—”

“Sam, this is easily the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard.”

The friends toasted and toasted again many times that night. Yet, when Merry was stumbling back home, arm tossed around Pippin’s shoulder, his clouded mind could still see her clearly.


End file.
